From ‘The Beatles: The Yesterdays’, ed. Duncan Pressinger, 1995. pg. 113

 

                             

                                       March 22^nd 1965

The Beatles flew back to London having completed the location shooting in Austria for Help!

 

 

 

March 23^rd 1965

 

George reluctantly allowed Pattie to pull him into an upright position on the side of the bed. He rubbed his eyes, still more asleep than awake.

 

“You’ll miss the appointment,” Pattie said, trying to hurry him.

 

“I don’t want to go,” George whined, like a small child being forced to go to school, “Can’t you go with her?”

 

“No. George, you agreed.”

 

“I know, but that was before I was jet lagged.”

 

“Hung-over.”

 

“It’s jetlag,” he insisted, trying to lie down again.

 

Pattie stopped him, taking hold of his arm. “You weren’t jetlagged when you came home, you were rolling drunk!”

 

“So I had a few drinks on the plane. So shoot me.”

 

“Don’t tempt me,” Pattie said, “Now, come on. Get dressed.”

 

With a moan, George stood up and opened the top draw of the dresser. “Y’know, its not right this,” he said, “I’ve been away for…” he tried to figure out how long it had been, “…ages, and you send me straight off to another woman.”

 

“George, it was your fault. You said you’d pay.”

 

George snorted, crossing the room to the wardrobe, “What’s wrong with the NHS?”

 

“George,” Pattie said warningly, and sat down on the bed.

 

“”She was fine, anyway. You saw her,” he took out the first top that came to hand.

 

“Well, you said she was unconscious. And then a few weeks later she’s having pain in her back. George, I think you have a duty.”

 

“Yeah, maybe,” George agreed begrudgingly.

 

“It could be serious.”

 

George pulled his jeans on and searched under the bed for his shoes. “How come you’re best of friends all of a sudden?” he said to the fluff under there.

 

“She’s nice,” Pattie replied, “She came round a lot to keep me company while you were away. Besides, she doesn’t really know a lot of people in London.”

 

George pulled his head out from under the bed, holding one shoe. He stood up in front of Pattie. He bent down and kissed her, surprising her. He put his hand up to the back of her head and leaned back from her, “Pattie…” he whispered.

 

“George…”

 

“Do you know where my other shoe is?”

 

 

 

George leaned on his hand, thinking I could have stayed in bed another hour.

 

He was in a small green waiting room, although ‘small’ was perhaps a little generous. Broom cupboard was more appropriate. The waiting room belonged to a Harley Street doctor’s practice that housed the spine and back specialist they had been waiting to see.

 

Grace sat opposite George in a yellow dress, flicking through a copy of ‘Queen’. She had her legs crossed and the skirt of her dress had ridden up her thigh a few inches. It hadn’t escaped George’s attention. He found himself staring when Grace looked up and caught him. She smiled knowingly. George cast his eyes away guiltily.

 

“Shouldn’t be too long now,” Grace said.

 

“No,” George replied, taking his head off his hand.

 

“You know, you really didn’t need to come with me. I could have forwarded the papers you need to sign.”

 

George rolled his eyes inwardly, cursing Pattie.

 

“I’m glad you did, though,” Grace added.

 

George smiled.

 

“How was the filming?”

 

“Good.”

 

“Was it in Austria this time?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did you do any skiing?”

 

George nodded.

 

“I haven’t been skiing since I was a child. We used to go to…” Grace suddenly stopped and looked away. “Well, anyway, I’ve probably forgotten how to by now,” she said after a pause.

 

The door to the office opened and a middle-aged man in glasses and a suit emerged. George and Grace stood up.

 

“Miss Burgess,” the man said, “I’m Doctor Kildare.”

 

The name made George smile. He tried not to.

 

“If you’d like to come this way we can get on with it then. Would you like to wait here, Mr. Harrison?”

 

George nodded and sat down again. Grace and the doctor went in to the surgery and closed the door. George picked up the magazine Grace had been reading and thumbed through it.

 

He had read about half way through an article on how to do your own French manicure when the doctor’s door opened again. Grace came out followed by the doctor.

 

“If you see my receptionist, she’ll arrange you another appointment,” the doctor was saying. George stood up again. “Ah, Mr. Harrison, I’ll fetch you the papers you need.”

 

George nodded and the doctor disappeared into another room.

 

“Alright?” George asked Grace, and instantly wished he hadn’t as she burst into tears. “Hey,” he said crossing the room to her, “it’s okay.” He rubbed her arm, trying to comfort her.

 

“It’s not,” she sobbed and moved towards him, resting her head on his chest.

 

Unsure what to do, George put his arms around her, “Why? What did he say?”

 

“I’ve got to have tests and all sorts of horrible things,” she said, slightly muffled by George’s body.

 

“Well, it’ll be alright,” George soothed, “Don’t worry, we’ll sort you out.”

 

“I might have to have an operation,” Grace said, “Or I might end up in a wheelchair.”

 

“Really?” George asked, holding her back from him, “Grace, it can’t be that bad.”

 

“You never can tell with spinal injuries, Mr. Harrison,” said the doctor, re-entering with a handful of papers. “You do want the best treatment for Miss Burgess, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, of course,” George said, as Grace dried her eyes, “Money’s not a problem. It’s just, she didn’t seem that badly hurt.”

 

“These things often don’t present themselves straight away, it can be years after the… accident, in some cases,” Doctor Kildare explained.

 

George wasn’t too keen on the way he said the word ‘accident’. “Well, you’re the specialist,” he said hostile, “Are those for me?”

 

“Ah, yes.” The doctor passed George the papers he was holding.

 

George looked through them briefly and signed where he was told. “Is that all?” he said, handing them back to the doctor.

 

“Yes, for now, thank you, Mr. Harrison,” Doctor Kildare smiled at him, “I’ll see you soon, Miss Burgess.”

 

“Yes, thank you, doctor.”

 

The doctor disappeared again into his office. George watched him. “I don’t like him,” he said to Grace, “Did you thing he was insinuating…”

 

“Oh George, can we go, please?” Grace said plaintively, “I can’t stand this place any longer.”

 

George nodded and held the door open for her.

 

“I’m sorry George,” Grace said, as they walked towards the car, “Doctor Kildare asked how I might have hurt my back and I told him about the accident. I didn’t think. I haven’t got you into any trouble, have I?”

 

“No, it’s all confidential what you tell quacks, isn’t it?” George said, looking ahead.

 

“Oh good, I would hate to do that, after you’ve been so nice to me.”

 

George nodded, only half listening. Grace slipped her hand in to George’s. George looked down at her, surprised. She squeezed it, “I’m so glad I met you, George,” she said.

 

“Uh, yeah, me too,” George said and took his hand away, putting it into his pocket.

 

They reached the car and George unlocked it.

 

“Shall I take you home, then?” he asked, “I think I remember the way,” he smiled.

 

“Oh, er… yes, I suppose so.” Grace put her seatbelt on.

 

“You don’t sound so sure,” George said, joking.

 

“No,” Grace said, flatly, “It’s just… oh, it doesn’t matter.”

 

“What?” George asked.

 

“Just Roger, it’s nothing.”

 

“You’re still quarrelling, eh?” George started the car.

 

“Yes, sort of,” Grace said, turning away.

 

“Well, the path to true love…” George said flippantly and pulled out into the traffic.